


part 5.

by hdarchive



Series: Heartstrings Verse [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Nerd!Blaine, Skank!Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine gets bullied. Kurt tries really, really hard not to care</p>
            </blockquote>





	part 5.

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: mentions of bullying/homophobia

It’s not annoying. It’s creepy.

He’s never seen Blaine look so void of anything. He sits and stares at the book in front of him, and you’d think he’d be turning the pages constantly from how hard he’s looking but he remains silent and still.

And Kurt thinks if he refuses to look up then that’s a golden opportunity for Kurt to not be reading his own book but -

Blaine just sits there, no expression on his face, a blank canvas which is usually painted and lively.

“Hey,” Kurt starts, low and cold. He can’t stop the churn of his stomach as Blaine continues to stare at nothing.

Blaine doesn’t blink, doesn’t move a muscle, and when Kurt drops his hand right over the book with a sudden thump Blaine only jolts slightly. His eyes shift slowly, until he’s looking at Kurt.

“What’s up your ass?” Kurt asks a bit louder. “If you’re just gonna sit there then I’m not wasting my time here.”

Surprised, because his heart is doing weird jumps but his voice stays strong, and Kurt keeps his jaw tight and posture slouched because he does  _not care_.

“Sorry,” Blaine finally says, and suddenly the walls of the room are vibrating, the atmosphere moving again. “I was just - distracted.”

His eyes narrow at the other boy, then slowly says, “Well, stop.”

The corners of Blaine’s mouth lift, for a brief second it looks like he’s on the verge of a sort-of smile, but then it’s gone.

And then Kurt’s sitting upright, frown fixed tightly on his face, and he glares at him. Because that doesn’t happen, not to Kurt, not from Blaine. Kurt swallows around whatever’s building up in his throat, feels his insides cringe at whatever his mind is piecing together.

“I think I’ve done more reading than you. Which is so not okay,” Kurt continues. He needs to stop, why isn’t he stopping, why is he talking to  _Blaine_  like that’s going to fix anything.

There’s a pause, too long for it to be natural, and then Blaine chuckles. His chest heaves out for a second, a dry, hollow sound, but then that too is gone.

Silence. And as much as he shouldn’t, Kurt knows that’s not right.

There are things in this world that Kurt shouldn’t have memorized but does. And right now his chest sinks with it, making every breath start to hurt because it’s not right.

That isn’t how Blaine laughs. Not even when he’s trying to be polite.

He shoves away from the table and grabs his books, huffs out, “Fine. See you next week.”

Because if he’s not annoyed then he’s caring, and he’s not going to give Blaine that satisfaction.

-

He really shouldn’t give a shit, but it’s prickling at his insides, an awful feeling swirling in his stomach. Blaine can hardly look at him, as if there’s something wrong with him. And even if there is something wrong, Kurt knows that Blaine wouldn’t ever think it.

And Kurt walks through the halls of McKinley with his head raised high and stride as smug as he can make it, but he doesn’t want to scare anyone. Intimidate maybe, but never scare. What if that’s it, why Blaine can’t hold eye contact for more than a millisecond now. What if he’s afraid of Kurt?

It’s getting annoying now, because Kurt didn’t even do anything and Blaine won’t say what’s wrong and Kurt is so fucking fed up because he really, really shouldn’t give a shit. And it’s not like it’s any of his business in the first place - Blaine is just Kurt’s tutor.

Except it totally fucking is if Blaine’s going to insist on wasting Kurt’s time by moping around.

He stands at his locker, silently fuming at his reflection in the mirror, and he thinks it totally sucks that his mind has been a constant track of  _BlaineBlaineBlaine_  all day, and he hopes it never happens again.

Kurt thinks about skipping his next class because he completely wasted his free block on Blaine, when he sees him. Bright white polo and checkered bowtie, suspenders drawn over his hunched up shoulders as he shuffles down the hall.

It’s like watching a car crash before it happens - one car driving too fast, another car turning in just the wrong place at just the right time - and then  _bang_.

Blaine’s books scatter to the ground, papers fluttering, and other students so carelessly walk right over them.

Some stupid jock laughs loud, obnoxious over the rush of kids passing by. Laughs as Blaine drops down, glasses sliding down his nose as he hurries to pick up his belongings.

Kurt has to look away. A crack inside of him that he thought he filled, thought he got rid of, is tearing open, and it hurts. Closing his eyes doesn’t do anything because it’s repeating in his mind and he can’t ever unsee it.

Blaine is just feet away, not fighting back, not doing anything but kneeling before that stupid fucking jock, and Kurt wants to go over there and help him but his feet are glued to the spot, refusing to budge, so he keeps his eyes locked on his own reflection.

A little more than two years ago. Yet it hurts as if he’s just been sliced open now.

Keeps his face hidden until he’s breathing normally and his insides don’t hurt so bad, and when Kurt finally turns around the hall is mostly empty and Blaine is nowhere to be seen.

-

Kurt isn’t stupid, he knows when to speak up and when to stay quiet and what it takes to actually get through high school. He knows when it’s somebody else’s fight and when to walk away and ignore everything.

He tries, tries and he can’t.

Building inside of him, one layer on top of another, anger and frustration because Blaine isn’t fighting back. Like he’s perfectly okay with having his precious books smashed to the ground, as if he’s as worthless as the papers being stomped on, and Kurt can’t watch it anymore.

A little over two years of hiding, going unnoticed, and now he has to step out of his corner of the world to do _something_.

Kurt’s insides are going to explode with how much rage is filling his body, and he doesn’t know when it’s going to snap.

Until there’s two large figures walking towards him, red jackets wrapped around them like armour, and every step they take towards Kurt makes them that much bigger and real.

They could keep walking past him, eyes never stopping to linger on him and hands never raising to touch him. Not anymore.

A year of being smashed into lockers and being called the most awful of names - and then Kurt had seen them. A group under the bleachers, always smoking and coughing and Kurt felt filthy just looking at them. But they were unnoticed, a group of them all undetected by the rest of McKinley.

Wearing intimidation like a mask. Not to cause fear, which Kurt feels so strongly right now. His heart hammers against his rib cage and he thinks his bones might crack. Can’t be invisible now.

Not when those battering rams are right in front him, and Kurt finally sees what they’re playing around with. Glasses, large framed and black and most definitely Blaine’s, and Kurt thinks anyone would have known they were Blaine’s by first glance, it doesn’t mean anything.

They’re just about to pass him and panic drives itself through every vein, and Kurt closes his eyes, takes one last breath.

“Hey!” A little too loud, to make up for the way his voice tries to shake.

They don’t turn, and the panic only takes a second to burn into fury. “Hey, you two rotting meatheads!”

And everything stops, Kurt’s words echoing through the hall.

“What’d you say?”

“Oh good, you speak english,” Kurt spits out, muscles hardening, locking up as he tries to step forward. Instinct can only carry you so far, and his instinct is telling him to  _run_ , but he can’t.

He really hopes that this isn’t one of those times where your mind thinks something and your mouth runs off and says it outloud. Because right now his mind is a never-ending loop of  _don’t touch me don’t touch me, please don’t touch me, don’t even look at me_.

“What’s your problem, Hummel?” One of them yells, and Kurt thinks his name is Azimio.

“I don’t think those belong to you,” Kurt says through gritted teeth, eyes flashing to the glasses.

They both laugh and exchange wild glances before turning their eyes back to Kurt. Two of them, one of him, and what was he thinking?

“You some expert on vision now? For your information I happen to be nearsighted.” Azimio slips the glasses on over his nose and squints his eyes.

And Kurt wants to laugh because if only he knew how fucking ridiculous he looks and sounds, but something else is pinning his gut down and he can’t do anything but stand there and glower at him.

“Listen, glasses are expensive and whoever those belong to probably really needs them,” Kurt tries to reason, and suddenly it’s his heart that’s being pinned down. Oh god, Blaine is out there right now without his glasses.

“If you want ‘em,” Azimio breathes right in front of him, and he raises his arm in the air, high above Kurt’s head. “Take ‘em.”

It ripples through him, expanding and extending, only this anger doesn’t disappear, and he scoffs because he doesn’t have any words. Throws his arms across his chest and tilts his head to the side, “I know you might have the comprehension of a nine year old but we’re not in the third grade anymore.”

Azimio jingles them in his hand.

And every piece of Kurt wants to lock up, hide, his skin wants to turn into metal, to shield everything in him.

For over a year now he’s mostly gone unnoticed by these giant buffoons, hating them from afar but safe, he was safe.

Blaine isn’t Kurt. Doesn’t have his exterior hardened, doesn’t scowl at the ground as he walks, and Kurt knows he isn’t weak, but he’s not defending himself either.

Going by unnoticed would be so nice right now, but Azimio is dangling the glasses above Kurt like he wants Kurt to jump for it, and Kurt absolutely will not act like some animal in the middle of the hallway for their entertainment.

“Give them back,” he growls, voice dark as he can make it.

“Come on little homo-hobo, reach for the sky!” Azimio cackles, lowering them in front of his face and then snatching them away.

Kurt cocks his head further to the side, one eyebrow raised above the other.

“Well if you don’ want it, then I guess we can just break it -”

“Stop!”

Instincts truly do betray you, Kurt thinks, and he lunges forward to rip them out of Azimio’s grasp.

Only to have that other boy  _grab_  him, rough hands clawing at the denim of Kurt’s vest.

His brain is trying to spew out  _don’t touch me don’t touch me why are you touching me,_  and that building, building pressure in Kurt’s chest explodes.

Not a fighter, as long as people think he can take them down then he’s good. Not a fighter, yet every body part is flailing and moving and his elbow jabs the other guy in the stomach and then he has one hand on Azimio.

Who’s grinning evilly at him, glasses clutched tightly in his hand. “Ooh, I get it. You have a thing with Anderson? That’s hurt, man.”

“Shut your mouth before I rip it off -”

“Well that’s just the nastiest thing I’ve ever heard,” Azimio sneers, and Kurt can feel the fire inside of him rise higher, bursts of flame in the air.

“Give me the fucking glasses!”

“Your girlfriend looks better without them.”

Kurt freezes, realizing that he is jumping like a monkey for these idiots and they aren’t about to take him seriously.

“Leave him alone,” Kurt gasps out, heart racing and blood rushing.

“Make me.”

And Kurt doesn’t have anything left in his arsenal.

He doesn’t have any words right now, no weapons, and there’s a hard thud in his chest every half second and his throat is blocked with so much  _fear_.

When you have nothing to defend yourself with and there’s no chance of winning, what do your instincts tell you to do?

Runs into him. Hard. He’s so much bigger than Kurt, sturdy, and it shocks his brain for a moment. A hand grabs the collar of his shirt, another curls around his arm, and that other boy is touching him again and Kurt only wants to scream now.

His own hand struggles to reach for the glasses, folding around Azimio’s fist to wrench them out of his grasp.

“If you ever think of touching him again -” Kurt finds himself hissing, breath shaking, and the other boys laugh louder.

His fist lands  _somewhere_ , and Azimio’s laugh dies off and turns into a yell and then Kurt is being pushed back.

Kurt’s hand never lets go of the glasses, holds tighter and tighter and fights for them until -

They snap, the crackle of it loud in his ears, and Kurt can feel the broken pieces jabbing into his skin.

Azimio immediately lets go, boisterous laughter returning.

It’s like the entire fucking universe is laughing at him.

Somebody is yelling at them, running towards them and shouting in that angry but not really caring tone only a teacher can carry.

Kurt can’t look away from the three pieces of what used to be a pair of glasses in his hand. Lets the teacher guide them down the hall towards the main office, his pulse still quick and his mind still a mess and he can’t shake the feeling of somebody else’s hands on him.

-

He’s still sitting there in the office chair, the other boys excused because they were able to convince Figgins that Kurt had started it out of nowhere. Maybe his appearance is a perfect shield from _them_ , but Figgins is dead set on hunting Kurt down with a pitch fork, so it wasn’t that hard for him to believe them.

The glasses are crumpled in his hand, and he hangs his head back over the chair and stares voidly at the ceiling.

Stick your neck out for some kid who could put Milhouse Van Houten to shame and this is what you get. Let them see you, let them think the idea of physical contact is okay, and this is what you get.

Kurt’s just starting to think that maybe he can manage as long as Blaine never finds out, when Blaine appears through the glass door. Looks so much smaller now, nervous shoulders sitting in a permanent shrug as he steps inside the waiting room.

As he moves closer Kurt doesn’t raise his head, stays reclined as Blaine sits in the chair next to him.

Blaine without glasses is the equivalent to seeing a dog driving a car.

Hilarious, weird, and yet Kurt can’t look away. Soft features, eyes that look brand new to the world, and he’s finally  _looking_  at Kurt.

“Heard you were in here,” Blaine says once he’s fully seated. “Are you - are you okay?”

He can feel their hand prints on him and he doesn’t know how to shrug it off, how to forget it. He’s scared, because he might have just set off the bear trap that’s been waiting for him all this time. And then he chuckles dryly and raises his eyebrows in response.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just - I guess I shouldn’t have been so concerned once I heard because it’s not like this is your first time in the principal’s office but-”

“Get to the point, Blaine,” Kurt sighs, eyes back to the ceiling.

“I heard it was Azimio.” Blaine stops, and Kurt can feel the presence of his hand right over the sleeve of his shirt.

Thinks for a second that he can’t handle anybody else’s hands on him, not now, not ever, but then Blaine’s palm is warm through the material, fingers gently curling around his wrist.

“Yup.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” Blaine breathes out. Sounding far more alive today than he was yesterday, a wave in his voice that spikes the beat of Kurt’s heart. “For me?”

Kurt nearly snorts, hand slapping down on his thigh. “In your dreams.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, may I ask why?”

Swallows down the ball of hardness that’s stuck in his throat, eyes burning as he blinks quickly. “I don’t like bullies. Simple as that.”

Nothing in the world could force him to take his eyes off the ceiling, but he wouldn’t have to to know exactly how Blaine’s looking at him. Eyes wide and shining, a soft smile probably pulling at his lips.

“Wow, you’re just like Steve Rogers.”

It’s then that Kurt actually laughs, a strangled sound as he fights his smile. “Stop talking.”

They fall into silence, Blaine still watching him, chin propped up in his hand as he leans on the arm of the chair.

His throat still hurts with feeling too much too sudden, and he has to blink, breathe, feel Blaine’s touch and remember that  _they_  aren’t touching him anymore so it’s okay.

His right arm raises and stretches across his body until his hand is above Blaine’s. Then without even looking at him, he unfolds his fingers.

“I broke your glasses,” Kurt mutters, quietly.

It’s Blaine’s turn to laugh, cracked and uneven, his fingers brushing Kurt’s palm as he picks up part of the frame. “Darn, these were my favorite pair. We should give them a proper burial.”

Kurt’s mouth tugs to the side in a half smile, “With a little casket.”

“And a tiny tombstone that reads ‘2011-2012’,” Blaine adds, then he laughs again and Kurt finds himself trying not to grin too much.

The room grows quiet again, Blaine’s occasional sniffle filling the air as they sit and wait, and then, “You know, I’m not afraid of them.”

Kurt finally turns his head to look at him, “Okay?”

“I know I can defend myself, but I shouldn’t have to. They can hit me, or call me names, but it’s not going to change what I am.”

Blaine takes a deep breath, eyes blinking up at the ceiling before he continues.

"They think it’s funny to damage my textbooks because I just so happen to be good at what’s inside of them, and they think it’s funny to pull on my bowties or make fun of my glasses. But it’s never going to stop me from being smart, and it’s not going to stop me from wearing them.”

Kurt needs his words back, needs to be able to say something but he can’t, he’s empty. So he stays quiet, looking down to his hands instead, picking away at the black nail polish on his thumbnail.

“I guess I thought for a while there, that maybe I am a loser, and that maybe nobody does like me.”

Looks to him, blinks as he takes in Blaine’s sunken expression. “Well isn’t that the truth,” he says around a smirk.

“But maybe I just need to find somebody who’s on my bow tie level. Or at least understands it.”

And how is it that Blaine has this way of saying words that nobody should ever say, and why is it that Kurt always finds himself smiling over it.

“Good luck with that,” he scoffs, patting Blaine on the arm.

Blaine starts to stand, runs his hands over his pants, smiles weakly down at Kurt. “Thank you, Kurt, I uh, it means a lot. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take public transit home.”

He pats his bag where he put his broken glasses, and with one last smile he turns to leave.

Leaving Kurt alone, and his eyes follow him as he leaves for the hall, never looking away until he’s gone. Then all Kurt can do is sit there, chip away at the polish, and he tries, tries so hard not to think about him.


End file.
